


Food

by DyslexicBookwyrm72, Lillian_Williams



Series: They Had Feelings For Each Other [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel & Demon Interactions, Angels, Best Friends, Demons, Diners, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Food, Friendship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Lunch, M/M, Magic, One Shot, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, wibbly wobbly timey wimey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2020-05-20 14:45:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19378852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DyslexicBookwyrm72/pseuds/DyslexicBookwyrm72, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillian_Williams/pseuds/Lillian_Williams
Summary: All living things have the same basic needs:FoodWaterShelterSafetyAnd CompanionshipA collection of stories about an angel and a demon. Miracles not included. Apocalypse sold separately.An angel and a demon try a local diner for lunch and anarchy ensues





	1. Borger Vs. Danger Ramen

**Author's Note:**

> so my friend and i realized we could just write about our interactions and turn them into fics so here it is our lives ft magic have fun
> 
> What she said, but also that if you want more you have to comment so.....

**Borger Vs. Danger Ramen**

An angel and a demon had decided on a nice little burger joint for lunch that day. The kind you order at the window and they bring it to your table when it’s ready. Milkshakes made from real ice cream with chips on the side that had actually been made from a freshly mutilated potato. The kind of place even a persnickety angel couldn't say no to, and they always got Aziraphale's order right. Crowley couldn’t care less as long as it was warm and he didn’t have to kill the cow himself. The music was some raucous modern BEE-BOP, but Aziraphale bore it with a grin. It was such a small thing to tolerate for the sake of a friend's smile.

They sat in a booth by the window, the same one they always sat at in the corner. Crowley had his back to a wall, arm slung over the back of his seat with one leg thrown up on the bench, playing with the plastic table card that had a faded '42' printed on the front to mark their order number, while Aziraphale looked out placidly onto an Angel-approved bit of foliage still standing resolute in the middle of town.

“I do hope they remember to use the lettuce instead,” Aziraphale said, while he leaned over to try and see into the kitchen.

“Don’t fret on like that. It only happened the once and after what happened they’ll absolutely remember your rabbit food wrapper.” Crowley drawled, spinning the order number between his index fingers.

“Leave my ‘rabbit food’ out of this! It’s not rabbit food. It’s angel food. I’m eating it.” Aziraphale said with a huff, straightening his already pristine bow tie. “It’s more consistent than a bun. It doesn’t get all squished. Besides the bread gets stuck in my teeth and I refuse to deal with that sort of nonsense!”

Crowley rolled his eyes, lolling his head back. He opened his mouth to say something, but the waitress arrived setting their food on the table. Aziraphale’s order had been right. Crowley tilted his head, giving the angel a small ‘see, told you so’ smirk. Aziraphale pursed his lips, his head twitching a nod. Aziraphale attempted to pass Crowley a knife and fork. Crowley’s eyebrow raised. 

“What’s that for?” Crowley asked, picking up his burger with both hands.

“You can't possibly fit that entire thing in your mouth at once without beslubbering your clothes-” The angel stopped mid-sentence with the sudden shock of disbelief at the sight before him.

With an abrasive, grinding sound the serpent dislocated his jaw. Crowley unhinged his jaw just enough to shove the double patty masterpiece through his lips. Once enough to still be chewable was in Crowley’s mouth, he clenched his jaw together with a snap of his sharp teeth. The demon looked at his burger, letting a contented sigh out through his nose while he tried to chew as carefully as possible.

Looking up, he noticed Aziraphale watching him. He had his hands on the edge of the table pushing himself away, eyes wide with brows furrowed. Aziraphale’s mouth was rocking between hanging open and indignantly pursing his lips together. 

“Wha’?” Crowley asked once he had enough room in his mouth for words.

“Crawley, you may be a demon, but we are in PUBLIC!” The angel glanced about hurriedly. 

“So now we’re name calling! Nobody cares, angel.” Crowley swung his arm around at the other patrons.

“Well, I…” The angle pursed his lips and crossed his arms before realising he had crossed them, then swiftly uncrossed his arms because that was defensive body language and he was not about to give a demon the satisfaction.

“Fine. Fine. Give me the bloody knife.” Crowley reached his hand out across the table.

“What, upon compulsion? Zounds, an I were at the strappado or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion? If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion,” 

“Fairly sure Kit wrote that one. Knife?” The demon flashed a toothy smile. “Please?”

“No. Falstaff was all William...then again if I am remeber’ed you had a lot of sway in the writing of Falstaff.” Aziraphale handed over the other knife and fork, sitting back in this seat with a wiggle. Crowley just shrugged, making a very noncommittal noise at the back of his throat. 

Aziraphale placed a napkin over his lap and cut out a triangle of his burger before piercing it with his fork and raising it to his mouth. As he tilted it toward his lips, a single blood-like drop of ketchup rained down from the grease laden invention of the naked ape. Aziraphale froze in place, hoping if he focused hard enough, he could stop time; being an angel, he did just that. In the space between seconds, Aziraphale raised his eyes to meet the veil’ed gaze of his companion. Every cell in the angels face bespoke a singular thought:

‘Make it go away.’ 

It was a task the angel was perfectly capable of on his own but... the mere concept that the universe could be so devilish, so malicious, so wicked in its mechanism that it could manifest a moment such as this where ketchup was about to foul his favorite waistcoat was paralyzing. Of all the offenses enacted upon him whilst on this mortal plane, this was by far the most challenging. 

Things on a cosmic scale for which he came prepared for; if the world was coming to an end he could keep his composure... but there was nothing in his angelic makeup that could prepare him for a world where condiments did not stay on their designated food. What kind of creator would make a world where the constant presence of gravity would play such cruel and unavoidable trick as this on the creatures unlucky enough to inhabit it? What lord of chaos had he stumbled upon? What fate did he tempt to find himself on the same path as this runny bottle of ketchup? How had he miscalculated to this degree? Did he not shake the bottle enough? Did his body temperature warm it too much? Was it EXPIRED? He didn't know. All he knew was that he had purchased this waistcoat on Anna Pavlovas’ debut performance and the angel could not live in a place in time where ketchup existed on his vest. So he had stopped it. 

Aziraphale said nothing. He didn't move. He hardly breathed he just looked at Crowley his eyes wide with the kind of terror unbefitting a creature known for raining brimstone and turning people to salt. If you could see into the quantum world as Crowley could, you would have been able to see Aziraphale’s lip quiver.

Crowley unceremoniously dropped his burger. He deftly snapped his fingers, then waved them towards himself. Hellfire had burned through the offending droplet so hotly that not even ashes had been left. Even so, Crowley made the air gust just enough, that had there been any, it wouldn’t have fallen on his friend. He looked through the fabric of reality to make sure that nothing had made it through to Aziraphale favorite waistcoat. Several specks no more than a few molecules wide rested on the edges. With an annoyed exhale, they pulled away from the interweaving of the fabric. A quick tap on the table and they ceased to exist.

“There now, all better. Yeah?” Crowley asked the angel. He gave him a reassuring smile, gesturing towards his, um, variation of a hamburger. “Better eat it before it gets cold, angel.”

Like an android being switched on, he took a breath and continued eating like he and his friend had not just squeezed between the felling stitch of the universe for the sake of a clean waistcoat.

“You know we could have gone to sushi?” Aziraphale delicately cut another small piece off, making sure to run the knife along the ketchuped edge.

“Then it would have just been soy sauce instead of ketchup,” Crowley said, looking at the angel over his sunglasses.

“I doubt that, soy sauce would never be so rude,” Aziraphale said in a matter-of-fact tone. 

“I’m sure you're right. Its never had anything bad to say about anyone.” Crowley said sarcastically. He had taken the knife and cut his remaining burger into fourths. Aziraphale watched as Crowley picked up one of the pieces and shoved it in his mouth.

“You really are a demon.”

If you could see into the quantum realm as Aziraphale could, you would have been able to see Crowley brandishing a happy, serpentine smile.


	2. Crêpes, Burritos, Taquitos Oh My!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel and a demon take a chance on a local cafe claiming to sell crêpes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter in cycle two  
> So if you're new wanna follow the vague Chrono, order hop over to Drink chapter 1.  
> if your returning from the emotion hellscape of Companion Cycle 1 welcome back, glad we didn't scare you away. this chapter is back to our usual comedic fare. hope ya don't hate it. have a nice day
> 
> Same thing but with more snark, too tired to come up with it now but I believe in your imaginative capabilities. Enjoy the pain free for y'all's' chapter! (y'all's'.... What an awful word... English, man, what a trip.)

An angel and a demon take a chance on a local cafe claiming to sell crêpes. Crowley didn't have preferences besides hot food being hot, and cold food being cold. But this place was new, which in the case of the angel usually meant that disappointment is imminent. 

The 'cozy' cafe was made all the more 'snug' with the addition of a local amateur vocalist. Complete with autotune microphone. And self-produced CDs. A sandwich board advertising Father's Day lunch specials rested against the bar. 

The singer started with 'So, I recently got divorced-' after which Crowley actively started tuning out the high-pitched keening of the speaker that would have put half of Hell's army to shame. It was directly behind him, and the demon couldn't even stop it because of the discord the pitchy mic was causing to the rest of the patrons.

It was not off to a good start.

Aziraphale, endeavouring to make the best out of a worsening situation looked down at his place setting to dig into his crêpes.

"They've forgotten my silverware...I believe this might have been a bad idea." Aziraphale said, brow creasing as he frowned. "I saw two customers I've turned away from my shop on the way here. And none of the dogs we've passed were petable," he added scooping his coffee into his hands his stomach grumbling as the overly acidic drink hit bottom. 

Crowley shrugged, reaching down to pick up his crêpe, stopping at the sound of an indignant scoff from across the table.

"What are you doing, dear boy? You can not possibly be thinking of doing what your face suggests you're thinking of doing."

"You can eat it with your hands." The demon said with on off-handed shrug, taking a bite out of the crepe, his silverware still in their napkin. His smile evident even through a mouthful of food "Honestly. Crêpe's just a sweet burrito."

The angel nodded along absentmindedly, scouring the cafe for the waitress before freezing.  
"What was that you said?"

"Crêpe. 'S just-a-sweet burrito." Crowley spit out through his overly full mouth.  
The angel blinked at the demon, lips stretched together, wishing once again that his friend wouldn't say things like that out loud where he could hear them. Taking a moment, Aziraphale examined his plate for a retort "No. It is not a burrito. The ends are open."

Crowley rolled his eyes, dislodging his sunglasses. "Fine! 'S a taquito, then."

The angel's eyes widened as his teeth pressed together nostrils flaring  
"Crêpes are not deep-fried," Aziraphale said with a matter of fact tone, pleased with his response.

"Not yet," The demon wiggled his eyebrows tauntingly, body twitching forward like he might bolt to find a deep-fry at any second.

The angel paused, letting out a resigned sigh, his hands going limp in his lap. Aziraphale pressed his eyes shut against the bombarding cacophony of the local artist. "Why are you like this?" 

Crowley just smiled back at him. A particularly unfocused verse buzzed out of the speaker, causing Crowley to cringe. He couldn't take much more of this, but the angel was still looking sadly at his plate. Now, the demon could have just passed his silverware over to Aziraphale… but where would be the fun in that?

Chuckling under his breath, Crowley slide the cutlery out of sight behind the sugar as Aziraphale continued to stare at the place where his silverware should be, Crowley leaned forward. 

"'Ey, angel," Crowley stage whispered to Aziraphale, getting him to look up from the melting whip cream sliding slowly off the top of his crêpe. "I dare you to eat that with your hands."

"I beg your pardon." The angel leaned back, placing his fingers to his chest in shock.

"I'll bet you £5 you won't eat that with your hands. Just pick it up and eat it. C'mon, you can do it ." The demon slumped back into his chair, using his boot to push the speaker stand back a few inches. "Or can you?" 

"I'm perfectly capable of eating it with my hands." The angel harrumphed.

"Uhuh."

"I just don't want to…"

"'Course."

"It's the waste of whip cream, that's what I have a problem with," Aziraphale whined, twisting his hands together.

"No, i' sss not" Crowley slowly shook his head.

"If it were more like a burrito and less like an enchilada MAYBE I'd eat it with my hands, but otherwise it's just a mess, and I'm wearing linen today." Aziraphale picked non-existent lint off his lapel, then fidgeted with the ends of his sleeves. 

"No other reasons? Yeah, definitely no other reason. Like how the Nutella and the sugar content of those berries right there is enough to crystalize this entire establishment if left to its own devices?" Crowley bared his teeth in a feral smile. "And, and I know this is a bit of a stretch, angel, but walk with me here, could it possibly be that your hands would get sticky." 

Aziriphale's lips pursed, and his face went flat. Quietly setting down his cup, he adjusted his napkin and looked at Crowley unamusedly before turning to face his adversary. The forearm sized crêpe was filled with strawberries and Nutella topped with several dollops of whipped cream smothered in Nutella and fruit compote. All sticky, all stainey. All guaranteed to leave as residue on anything they touched. 

Azriraphale's hands wiggled at the open air, like the tendrils of a jellyfish. Taking a second napkin Aziraphale tucked it into his collar. Heaven forbid he stain his linen suit. Then there's the matter of how to go about picking it up. The only thing worse than getting all this sticky icky mess on his hands would be getting it under his fingernails so scooping it up from underneath was out of the question... but if he picked it up by the ends, then he was bound to wear his breakfast on his vest.

With everything that presented itself to him, the only option left was silverware, but Aziraphale hated giving Crowley the satisfaction of being right about him all the time. Just once he'd like to catch Crowley by surprise, but as every second ticked passed and the crepe remained on his plate, Aziraphale was resigning himself to the fact that at least today Crowley was right... again

Crowley watched as the angel eyed the crêpe contemplatively. His friend's facial expression going from determination to disgust and back with each change becoming more dramatic than the last. As Aziraphale stared down the object of his distress with a final eye squint of resignation, it became evident the demon was, in fact, right about the outcome this would have. All he had to do was wait for Aziraphale to come to the same conclusion.

Aziraphale's shoulders slumped forward with a sigh, his lips pursed as he looked up at his grinning companion. Crowley sat back further into his seat, steepling his fingers as he leaned his forearms on the edge of the table.

"It's just too…" Aziraphale made a disgusted sound at the front of his throat, shoulders shivering away the feeling. "It'll get all over my hands and then, well, the rest of the day will just be-," Aziraphale let out a huff as he wrinkled his nose at the non-existent irritation that might have occurred, had the imaginary scenario that he was playing in his head actually happened. The angel began furiously wiping the imaginary ick on his pants. The demon let out a laugh, pushing his silverware toward the angel. Aziraphale picked up the silverware; prongs down, and began cutting the crêpe into meticulous coin-sized bites. 

"I know, angel." Crowley chuckled to himself, regaining some semblance of upright as he reached out to reroll his crêpe after picking out a few berries.

Taking one bite, the angel slowed his chewing as the sugar hit his tongue. Stomaching a second bite, he set his silverware down as quietly as he could. Raising a hand to his tensed jaw, "they're too sweet."

"Do you wanna get somethin' else?" The demon gritted his teeth as the singer began their "new set", which was the same songs over again set an octave lower. 

"No…" Aziraphale sighed, wadding up his napkin and throwing it on the table. Only to pick it up, fold it nicely and place it back down. "We've already been here for three hours."

"What 'bout the pop up down by the park?" Crowley was already pulling out his wallet, throwing a few bills on the table. The sooner they left, the better. 

"Let's!" Aziraphale's face lit up at the mention of the noodle cart, and he near jumped up out of his seat, dusting off the memories of the experience as he made his way through the door. Crowley took a few extra moments to collect his jacket off the back of the chair and pick up a near-empty cocktail on a recently vacated table. 

The demon could see the angel waiting for him through the front window with a small smile on his face. Crowley gave one final stretch, dumping the drink on the power strip leading to the sound system sending the cafe into darkness, before strutting through the door with a self-satisfied smirk.

As Crowley rejoined Aziraphale, he found him consumed in watching a dog across the street. Too fixed on the fluffiness of, what he assumed the angel was internally referring to as, the pup's "wittle tail" to notice the cafe plunged into darkness and Father's Day anarchy.

"I wonder if they have saffron in this time of year?"

"Guess we'll find out, angel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we can't make this shit up. and I still don't know why they're like this.
> 
> Hey!? I'm a delight to be around ;) anyway Hope you guys enjoy

**Author's Note:**

> hope you had as much fun reading as we did writing  
> there will be more fics in this series and more chapters in this fic
> 
> We're having an awesome time writing this so we hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading this guys :)


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